Chapter 13
Richard sat at his desk, his gaze fixed on the columns of numbers that danced mockingly across the page.
The ledgers sent over by his man of business should have been straightforward, yet the figures blurred and shifted no matter how often he blinked.
With a frustrated exhale, he leaned back in his chair and pinched the bridge of his nose.
His temples throbbed with a dull ache. Why did it have to be so infernally difficult?
A soft voice broke the silence.
“You missed dinner,” Miss Theodosia said from the doorway, holding up a small plate. “Your mother asked me to bring you pudding.”
He didn’t glance up. “We have servants for that sort of thing,” he muttered, his tone sharper than he intended.
Unbothered, she stepped into the room with a weak smile. “I know. But I didn’t mind. I was on my way to retire for the evening, and I thought you might appreciate something sweet.”
He gestured to the corner of the desk, his voice still curt. “You can put it there.”
She approached and carefully set the plate down. “You look tired,” she observed. “And frustrated.”
Something in him snapped. “It is none of your concern,” he said, the words flung with more force than he’d meant.
There was a brief pause. Then, calmly, she replied, “No, it is not. But I am asking as a friend. That is what we agreed to be, is it not?”
He raked a hand through his hair, fingers catching in the unruly strands. “We did,” he admitted gruffly, “but I’m not in the mood to talk. Not with you, not with anyone.”
“I understand.” Her gaze dropped to the cluttered papers. “Still, if you’re struggling with the accounts, perhaps I might offer some assistance.”
His eyes narrowed. “And why would you think I need your help?”
“I never said you did.”
“I am perfectly capable of handling my own accounts, Miss Theodosia,” he said, his voice tight with defensiveness.
A flicker of emotion crossed her face—perhaps disappointment or restraint. She bowed her head slightly. “Of course. Good night, my lord.”
She turned and made her way towards the door, her steps light, unhurried. But before she reached it, the weight of guilt tugged at him.
“Wait,” he called out.
She stopped and turned, her expression guarded.
He rose, tugging down his waistcoat as though to steady himself. “I’m sorry. I had no right to speak to you in that manner.”
“It’s all right,” she said quietly and moved to leave again.
“No, it isn’t,” he said, stopping her once more. “You did nothing wrong. I—” He faltered, ashamed. “I was taking out my frustrations on you.”
She studied him for a long moment. “Dare I ask what has you so vexed?”
His pride warred with his honesty, but in the end, honesty won. “I struggle with numbers,” he admitted, his voice low. “Always have. My mind switches them around somehow. It’s like chasing smoke trying to get them to line up properly. I’ve had this issue since I was a boy.”
He braced himself for ridicule or condescension. Instead, her eyes softened with something dangerously close to understanding.
“My dearest friend, Penelope, is the same way,” she said. “Arithmetic was always a struggle for her. Her mother used to say she had a mind built for stories, not sums.”
He gave a humorless chuckle. “Yes, well, I’m expected to manage an estate. What use is a lord who cannot even read the blasted ledger?”
“There is no shame in that,” she said simply.
He frowned. Was that pity he heard in her tone? He couldn’t abide that. “Don’t look at me like that.”
“Like what?” she asked, appearing genuinely puzzled.
“Like I’m broken.”
Her expression turned solemn. “I don’t pity you, if that’s what you’re implying.”
His brow furrowed. “You don’t?”
She stepped closer to the desk. “Everyone has strengths and weaknesses, my lord. Some are merely more visible than others. Struggling with something doesn’t make you broken. It makes you human.”
He looked away, jaw tight. “I shouldn’t have weaknesses. Not ones that matter.”
“‘To err is human,’” she quoted. “There’s no disgrace in it.”
He stared at her, scarcely able to believe what he was hearing. “Surely, you are mocking me,” he said. “Just as the boys did at Eton when they learned of my so-called limitations. They mimicked my struggles, laughed behind my back and sometimes to my face.”
Her eyes did not waver from his. “I am truly sorry they treated you so cruelly. But I assure you, I am in earnest. They had no right.”
Richard exhaled and sank back down into his chair, the strength seeming to drain from him.
He dragged a hand down his face, as though wearied by years rather than minutes.
“My father tried everything,” he murmured.
“Tutor after tutor. Each promising miracles, each failing. None of it made any difference. You cannot mend something that is fundamentally broken.”
Miss Theodosia stepped closer, her expression firm.
“You must stop saying that you are broken. You are not. Struggling with one task does not render you less capable, less worthy, or less whole. So what if you cannot read a ledger? That does not prevent you from managing your estate or leading your household with competence and wisdom.”
He let out a frustrated breath. “You don’t understand.”
“You are right—I don’t,” she said with unflinching honesty.
“Because I see a man who has every advantage, every resource, and yet insists on wallowing in his sense of inadequacy instead of doing something about it. You’re not a failure.
You’re simply too determined to feel sorry for yourself to see the truth. ”
He shoved back his chair again and rose. He crossed the room with quick, agitated strides and stared out into the darkened night beyond the window.
“I am a marquess,” he said quietly, almost to himself. “Men look to me—to guide, to inspire. To lead by example. And I—I cannot even read a blasted column of numbers.”
A silence stretched between them before she asked, “Why do you believe that disqualifies you from leading them?”
“Miss Theodosia—” he started.
She cut him off. “Enough of the excuses. There is nothing wrong with you, save for the fact that you insist on seeing yourself through the lens of childhood shame. If your brain scrambles numbers, then hire someone who can read them clearly. Delegate that task and focus on the many duties only you can fulfill. That, my lord, is what a wise leader does.”
He stood there for a long moment in the flickering lamplight. Then, slowly, he swallowed, his throat working. “You truly don’t think less of me? Not even a little?”
“Of course not,” she said without hesitation. “Why would I? You’ve entrusted me with a truth most men would never dare voice aloud. That takes courage, not weakness.”
Richard’s chest felt tight, not with embarrassment, but something dangerously close to relief. For so long, he had lived with the fear of exposure, of being seen and judged. Yet now, standing before this woman who met his flaws with strength instead of scorn, he felt… lighter.
Miss Theodosia regarded him with a quiet intensity. She said nothing further, but something shifted in the space between them—something fragile and profound.
He didn’t feel quite so alone anymore.
For the first time in what felt like years, he felt truly seen—not as a title, or an obligation, or a disappointment—but as a man. Someone understood him. Someone heard him. It was a startling sensation, one he had not experienced since his father had been alive.
Miss Theodosia glanced at his cluttered desk. “If you’d like,” she began, “I would be happy to help you review your accounts tomorrow.”
“You would?”
A soft smile curved her lips. “As I’ve said before, I am quite good with numbers. I find it rather satisfying to bring order to a chaotic ledger.”
He chuckled. “You are rather peculiar, but in the most agreeable way.”
“Thank you,” she murmured, a faint flush coloring her cheeks.
Without meaning to, he stepped towards her. One step, then another, until only a breath separated them. She looked up at him, her chin lifting to meet his gaze, and her expression a mix of uncertainty and curiosity.
A stray tendril had escaped her otherwise neat chignon, curling against her cheek. His fingers itched with the urge to reach out, to tuck it gently behind her ear. It was a ridiculous impulse—intimate and absurd—but he couldn’t shake it.
Her eyes searched his face. She wasn’t retreating, but she wasn’t drawing closer either. He could see the question in them: why are you standing so near?
“I should go,” she said softly, though she made no move to step away.
“Yes,” he agreed. His voice was hoarse, and his feet remained stubbornly in place. “You should.”
Nevertheless, neither of them moved. He should have stepped back. He should have remembered his manners, remembered who they were.
But he didn’t want to. Not just yet.
Not when standing this close to Miss Theodosia felt like the first right thing he’d done in a very long time.
She took a breath. And that breath stole his. He had never been so tempted by a young woman before. Not in all of his life.
His sister’s voice rang out from the doorway. “Good heavens, what am I interrupting?”
Startled, Richard stepped back at once, his movements swift and stiff. “Nothing,” he said—far too quickly to sound convincing.
Olivia’s brow arched in clear disbelief as she sauntered into the room. “It didn’t look like nothing,” she said, her tone lilting with barely concealed amusement. “In fact, it looked quite like something.”
He clenched his jaw, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. Trust Olivia to appear at the most inopportune moment.
He risked a glance at Miss Theodosia, who now had both hands raised to her cheeks. Her gaze had dropped to the floor, and she seemed to be willing it to swallow her whole. The usually composed woman looked thoroughly flustered—an expression he hadn’t seen on her before and found oddly endearing.